Shadow Play: The 23rd Annual Hunger Games
by Current Rainbow
Summary: 23. The number of tributes who are bound to die on live television, be murdered while the rest of the country stands by. Each tribute is more determined than ever to get out alive, but it isn't going to be so simple. These are the Hunger Games, after all
1. Join the games!

**THE TRIBUTES**

District One:  
Cree Sooke - Girl  
Matt Dresdon - Boy

District Two:  
Ashkai Dayson - Girl  
Sulla Hart - Boy

District Three:  
Lindy Waterson - Girl  
Crawford Reed - Boy

District Four:  
Ryan Caroline Archibald - Girl  
Nolen Rivers- Boy

District Five:  
Alexa "Lexi" Stevens - Girl  
Flint Westbark - Boy

District Six:  
Aurora "Rory" Tinsel - Girl  
Oceanus Shaw - Boy

District Seven:  
Pearl Anderson - Girl  
Alei Bran - Boy

District Eight:  
Maximo "Maximum" Mao - Girl  
Tycho Weatherby - Boy

District Nine:  
Lowell MacKenzie - Girl  
Cormac Tabben - Boy

District Ten:  
Luna Bell Luve - Girl  
Luka Charn - Boy

District Eleven:  
Kai Lucas - Girl  
Kekoris Foreman - Boy

District Twelve:  
Abrielle "Abbi" Robinson - Girl  
Ferris Peterson - Boy

The completed tribute list! Thank you to all those who submitted and helped me out. Look for the Reapings next-I might be able to do some tonight. May the odds be EVER in your favor :)


	2. Arena and Updated Tribute List

Thanks for your submissions so far, even though there's only been like three, but I'm updating to let you know what the arena is going to look like!

There will be a patch of land, surrounded by shallow, murky looking water with a pebble bottom. There will be one isle covered in trees, with some open land that is just hills but mostly it is a forest like environment with a waterfall that hidden, has an underground cave/tunnel. The air is very hot and humid, yet not dry. There are a few streams that run through the land, and the waterfall hold the freshwater, but the shallow murky water is deadly, if you drink it, you'll die, if you sink too far into the pebbles, you will be sucked in and drown and there are some eels and water snakes that swim in the body of water. The arena has been nicknamed the "Fishbowl" by the Gamemakers, because of it's environment and if you go far enough, you will be met by a clear, unbreakable glass dome.

Tributes so far;

District One:  
Cree Sooke - Girl  
- Boy

District Two:  
Ashkai Dayson - Girl  
- Boy

District Three:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Four:  
- Girl  
Reed Weatherby - Boy

District Five:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Six:  
Aurora "Rory Tinsel" - Girl  
- Boy

District Seven:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Eight:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Nine:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Ten:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Eleven:  
- Girl  
- Boy

District Twelve:  
- Girl  
- Boy

You can either PM me or review the story if you want to submit a character!


	3. FINAL TRIBUTE LIST : LET THE GAMES BEGIN

**THE TRIBUTES**

District One:  
Cree Sooke - Girl  
Matt Dresdon - Boy

District Two:  
Ashkai Dayson - Girl  
Sulla Hart - Boy

District Three:  
Lindy Waterson - Girl  
Crawford Reed - Boy

District Four:  
Ryan Caroline Archibald - Girl  
Nolen Rivers- Boy

District Five:  
Alexa "Lexi" Stevens - Girl  
Flint Westbark - Boy

District Six:  
Aurora "Rory Tinsel" - Girl  
Oceanus Shaw - Boy

District Seven:  
Pearl Anderson - Girl  
Alei Bran - Boy

District Eight:  
Maximo "Maximum" Mao - Girl  
Tycho Weatherby - Boy

District Nine:  
Lowell MacKenzie - Girl  
Cormac Tabben - Boy

District Ten:  
Luna Bell Luve - Girl  
Luka Charn - Boy

District Eleven:  
Kai Lucas - Girl  
Kekoris Foreman - Boy

District Twelve:  
Abrielle "Abbi" Robinson - Girl  
Ferris Peterson - Boy

The completed tribute list! Thank you to all those who submitted and helped me out. Look for the Reapings next-I might be able to do some tonight. May the odds be EVER in your favor :)


	4. REAPING: District 1

**Matt Dresdon**

The square of District 1 was crowded as it always was on this day—Reaping Day. And being my last eligible year, it will be my last Reaping Day. I'll either be sent to the great games and win and then go home and spend the rest of my life doing whatever I want, or skip the games all together and spend the rest of my life doing whatever I want. The second is more likely and that's fine with me. I don't really give a damn about the games. I know I'd take all the other tributes down in less than a few days, so why should I care?

My mother and father usher me into my age group, hugging me and waving at me wildly with intense pride. I grin back and as my mother blows me a kiss. Then I face front and snicker, pushing my way through the large group of roped in eighteen year olds until I reach my best mate, Parker, who acknowledges me with a punch on the shoulder.

"Hey man, ready for another fan-tastic games?" He asks as officials begin to make their way onstage. The escort is a rich looking capitol man with vibrant red hair. "Of course!" I agree after a moment, and clear my throat so that when I speak, my voice comes out a high-pitched mocking tone "Let thee gaaaaaaaames begin!"

**Cree Sooke**

They've already began talking and I haven't been paying the least bit of attention until Caddish Lance, our district's escort begins to spin the giant glass ball containing all the names of every girl in District 1. I flash a quick glance at my younger sister Yakama, who stands out in the crowd of thirteen year olds. She looks so similar to me—copper skin, black hair. It's like spotting a black rock in a field of white grass. Nearly every girl from District 1 is blond, blue eyed and gorgeous. We're different. I mean, we're not devastatingly ugly, but my look is unique. Yakama catches my eye and gives me a reassuring smile. It's not likely she'd get reaped, I mean, considering there's all these girls and most of them if not chosen would volunteer anyway. I scan the people nearest to me, the majority of which are peering curiously as Caddish retrieves a slip of paper and begins to smooth it out and approach the podium. They don't accept me for who I am and I don't care. I know I'm better than them anyway. Caddish reaches the podium and leans into the microphone with a radiant grin. You can tell he's enjoying this because he's just been moved up to District 1 from District 3 last year. Here the tributes actually have a shot, been training for this as soon as they could stand on two feet—

"_Cree Sooke_!"

It's like I suddenly screamed very loudly or grew another set of ears. All eyes were on me, drilling into my head. I did not think as I made my way to the stage, but I remember the eyes, the ones that belonged to the blond girls some who stared with jealously, some with cruelty. I remember the eyes that belonged to the teenage boys who looked as if this was no big loss. I remember the loud hiccup that must belong to my sister. Before I knew it I was on that stage, the one I'd seen for nearly my whole life, but never set foot on until now.

"Hm, do we have any volunteers?" Caddish inquired. He made an over dramatic gasp when the crowd continued to be silent. "How strange!" He concluded before grinning sideways at me and hopping over to the boys' raffle. My hands were clutched in fists. This wasn't bad. I was shocked, but not scared. This was a chance to prove myself. I could return as a victor, respected and liked. I could make it in the Hunger Games—but what about Yakama? How was she going to make it here? I spotted her in the crowd, staring silently at me with huge dark eyes. If I was going to be in these games I was going to win, and I'd return a hero and be there for Yakama. We'd be rich. We'd be happy. I could do this. I know I have it in me.

Caddish had returned, he leaned in on the microphone again and held the strip of paper high in the air. "Matt Dresdon!"

This time there was a loud, animated "Yes!" in response, and a fist pumped in the air. Typical. I knew Matt Dresdon; we were the same age. At least District 1 would be happy to have two eighteen year olds. The odds were certainly in our favor. Matt quickly made it to the stage, where he and I were presented to the expectant crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 1, I give you your champions: Cree Sooke and Matt Dresdon!"

The crowd exploded in applause. I shook Dresdon's hand and photographers snapped photos of us at the speed of light, a humorless smile spreading over my face. Caddish's last comment had made me laugh on the inside. After all, there could only be one champion.


	5. REAPING: District 2

**Sulla Hart**

"Perila Tagrowth!" Our female escort announces over the loudspeaker, and a girl in the group of thirteen year olds looks as if she's about to keel over in surprise. I let a smug smile spread on my face. Good—less competition for me. The crowd sure is disappointed though, letting out an annoyed huff all at once. It's a shame when most District 2 tributes are so well trained and then some shrimp gets chosen. Bad luck, really.

"Wait, I volunteer!" A voice suddenly exclaims, coming from a little ways in front of me as a gorgeous girl with curly hair hurries towards the platform. The escort doesn't look surprised. Why should she be, there are always volunteers from our district. "Alright—name please?"

"Ashkai Dayson" The girl answers with out emotion, standing tall and facing the crowd rather than the escort. The boy next to me is captivated, nearly drooling. I can't blame him. Ashkai Dayson is beautiful, perhaps a year or two younger than myself and suddenly the name clicks in my head.

"My oh my, was your brother Thor Dayson?" The escort asks, looking a little more interested. Ashkai rolls her eyes slightly "Yes, of course" She gives another look to the crowd. The escort clears her throat "Very well, then District 2, please give a warm welcome to your female representative, Ashkai Dayson!"

There is clapping and whistling from the crowd, especially from a burly middle aged man in the back. Ashkai's father. I remember him in one of the interviews I watched a few years ago, when Thor Dayson, Ashkai's older brother was a tribute in the games. He was killed by some District 4 tribute that went on to win the whole thing. A woman of around the same age stands next to Mr. Dayson, clapping slowly and looking emotionless as her daughter does a little curtsy on the stage.

Huh. I guess there will be two volunteers this year, I think. At least I'll have a reliable ally in the games. The crowd has fallen silent once again as the escort reaches into the glass ball filled with the boy's names, fishing around until she pulls out a piece of paper.

"Cash Clerk!" She calls, her voice ringing. I don't even bother to look for the kid. "I volunteer!" I boom, stepping forward and making my way towards the stage. Kids I know pat me on the back and encourage me as I hurry up to where Ashkai and the escort stand. "Sulla Hart" I introduce myself, voice confident, strong. My heart is pounding like a frightened rabbit as the escort announces me to the crowd. I see my parents, both watching me: my mother silently shedding a few tears as she clutches the waist of my father, who just stares at me in a moment of surprise and then joins in the rest of the crowd in their applause.

"Looks like we have a pair of fine tributes here District 2, Ashkai Dayson and Sulla Hart!" Our escort invites us to shake hands and I turn towards Ashkai, who smirks a little at me as we meet in a firm handshake. I give her a carefree smile before we turn back to the crowd. I'm going into the games with a good ally, that's for sure. But I am coming out of them alone.

**Ashkai Dayson**

Our mayor has begun the long speech that follows the reaping and I let my mind travel absentmindedly. I glance towards Sulla again, who's hair blows gently in the wind as he listens to the mayor. He's certainly a charming guy. I glance back towards my mother and father, who stand proudly. My dad gives me a subtle thumbs up and I just keep on staring straight ahead. It's his fault I'm up on his goddamn stage. I feel the scar on my back as I turn, every move I make. Oh well. It'll make me look tough, I suppose. Those other tributes better take me seriously. I've got the ability to kill them all—I've been training for about four years now, in preparation for these games. Not so much that I wanted to take place in them, but my father wanted me to. Every since Thor went into the games and didn't return, I've been his new project, his new hope for rich winnings and celebrity status. I don't really know what his game is. He just hates to loose.

After the mayor has finished his speech, we are applauded one last time by the crowd and then ushered away through the cameras and media who try to hammer us with questions. We don't stop walking until we reach the courthouse and go to our separate rooms. I visited Thor before he left. It was this same room. I sit alone, in silence and in thought until peacekeepers swing open the door and usher my parents inside.

They don't even sit down. My mother stares at me with a cold, blank expression and my father a heated and expectant one. I sigh. "I'll win, you know." I finally say, adjusting the strap on my plain white dress. My father lets out a grunt, "I know—I just wonder if you do" He replies, striding forward. My mother remains where she is. I wonder if she's happy on the inside.

I don't answer so my father continues. "Do not forget a thing I've taught you. Be resourceful, be merciless. It should all come to you like riding a bike".

"I won't," I respond simply, as if on cue. Trust me, I've gotten good at this over the years. He stands back, arms folded, still looking slightly unconvinced before he chuckles. "We're proud of you, Ashkai. Don't let me down" And with that he turns and leaves. My mother turns to follow him, but suddenly rushes to me, grabbing my wrist fiercely and pulling my fingers back. She grabs something out of her pocket and puts it forcefully into the palm of my hand. "Wear this," Is all she says before she is gone.

I watch her go before looking down at my hand. In it is a silver bracelet. I turned it over, frowning. It didn't bring back any significant right away. It was only till I ran my fingers over the two engraved letters that I realized.

_TD_

It had been Thor's token in his games. It must have been returned to us once he died. I did not hesitate when I slid it on my wrist. I will not hesitate at all.


	6. REAPING: District 3

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! You're support and comments are really encouraging and your characters are great to work with! Hopefully I can finish the Reapings over the weekend, but no promises. I still have like nine more to go. Here's District 3!

* * *

**Lindy Waterson**

"Happy Hunger Games! Let's have the gentlemen first, shall we?" Our escort, Vanilla has stepped up to take the podium now, but she gets right down to business. All the guys around me tense up, probably praying that they won't be selected. I fold my arms and wait. I hate this. That they can just rope us off and pick us like animals, send us in to die. We're all just the Capitol's puppets. My friend, Camielle has a similar blank expression on her face, but anger burns in her eyes as well. I search the crowd briefly while Vanilla is reaching in through the boys' names. I spot my brother Calvin. He's only two years younger than me and has a completely different look on his face. Nervous, eager. I wonder if he'd volunteer. Probably not—as much as our mother urges us to enjoy the Hunger Games and compete in them, Calvin knows that there are kids four times his size who knows fifty different ways to kill you just with their hands alone. My mom won the Hunger Games at age seventeen. She treats Calvin, my sister Kiana and I like we're careers. We're not.

"Crawford Reed!" Vanilla reads the name and almost at once a boy moves up to the stage from the group of fourteen year olds. He looks as if he's about to burst into tears. Vanilla asks for volunteers, but only gets a silent crowd in return. Calvin fidgets nervously but does not raise his hand. Once Crawford realizes that it's hopeless and no one is going to step in for him, tears begin to role down his cheeks and he hangs his head in shame. Vanilla doesn't know what to do and frowns, cringing away from the boy. " . . . Well, ah, I guess we have our male tribute then—let's move on—"

I curl my hands into tight fists. I hate her. I pity the boy, who is only a year younger than me, knowing that he'll probably be one of the first to go in the games. I'll watch him die on T.V.

I know my anger at Vanilla is misdirected. She's a dopey middle-aged woman with swirly yellow and white hair whose voice is so squeaky it could shatter windows. It's the Capitol I hate. I just want this day to be over, but I know it will never be over. It's repeated year after year after year. As long as the Capitol lives, so do the games. It's as simple as that.

Vanilla has picked up a tribute's name and strides back to the podium gleefully, probably hoping that the girl tribute will NOT begin weeping profusely the moment she steps on stage. But there's something else, some sort of recognition in her eyes. Some sort of thrill. I know what's going to happen right before it does.

"Lindy Waterson!" Vanilla announces, way overenthusiastic. "Daughter of past victor, Sandra Waterson—imagine that folks!" She claps her hands together. Kids who know of me turn to stare. I smooth my green dress and keep the same, emotionless expression on my face as I make my way to the stage. I did not expect this, but I refuse to give the Capitol any surprise or any emotion at all.

**Crawford Reed**

I actually wanted to do something with myself, you know? Not like I had my whole life planned out, but I had ideas of stuff I wanted to accomplish. They didn't include dying at age fourteen, getting stabbed to death by a nasty career or dying of hunger or falling in a dark hole. Believe me, I can keep coming up with more.

I wanted to be a chef when I got older. Electronics had never really appealed to me. I started work just this year. At least I get out of that early, huh? I'm okay at working with electronics and setting up television sets, but I'm really, really good at cooking. I thought maybe I'd even get so good I'd be working at a high-end restaurant in the Capitol. Or at least somewhere—away from District 3. Maybe I'd find the courage to ask out Leesi Wilders, a pretty girl whom I went to school with. Maybe I'd have a family, and give my family a better life and maybe I'd be a person, a real person, not just Shorty, or Curly Cue or Little Asshole.

None of those things are going to happen now. I'm going to die—going to be murdered, actually, to be perfectly blunt—at age fourteen. I will die Curly Cue and I will die painfully alone. In the 23rd Hunger Games, I will die.

I will die.

I'm gonna die.


	7. REAPING: District 4

**Ryan Caroline Archibald**

Nate and I walk to the square together. He is wearing fine khakis and a blue polo shirt, while I have on a light blue sundress with golden flip-flops. We've just returned from sailing in the early morning wind—it's something we do nearly every morning weather permitting. Actually, Nate does most of the sailing. I lounge around on deck and get some sun. We talk. This is life for me. I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.

I can see my parents outside around the square, both waving to me slightly as Nate and I enter the group of seventeen year olds. We're closer to the front when than we are last year, and the only heads in front of us are those of the eighteen-year-old boys and girls. I don't have any other siblings, by Nate is like a brother to me. We have a similar tan appearance and hair color; the only thing that really sets us apart is our eyes.

Our mayor approaches the podium and welcomes us to District 4's Reaping of the 23rd Hunger Games. He describes the history of Panem as he does every year at every Reaping. I sigh and grumble with boredom. I dislike the Reaping, because usually I don't' know the tributes who get sent into the arena. Two years ago a girl who lived in my neighborhood was chosen, but that's all. Watching the Games is much more exciting for me, when I'm at home or on my family's yacht.

Nate chuckles at my exasperated expression and I turn my nose up at him in response. He scowls playfully "Come on, now, there's still a chance we could get chosen. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

I laugh at the idea. My name is entered seven times out of what, thousands? I'd never need to enter it more for tesserae like some poorer kids need to. Anyways, there are plenty volunteers in our District. I've watched other Reapings on our television, like District 11, where every tribute that gets picked has the look on their face like "I'm such a goner". Sucks to be them.

Once the mayor has finished, he takes a seat and our escort stands now in his place. Telemachi has been our escort forever—maybe even since the first Hunger Games. He always wears a different bowtie with the same slicked back navy blue hair. This year Telemachi's bowtie is bright pink with a red jewel in the middle. He's such a weirdo.

Telemachi greets everyone once again and wishes them a happy Hunger Games. He introduces our past victors, all four. Our most recent was four years ago, when Poncho McCormick won. He was a beast, a deadly hunter after he got his hands on another tribute's crossbow. Then he totally betrayed the other top tributes, or Careers, as most people call them, and won 2 days later. The other victors are all relatively young, and include Mags Chance, who won a few years back using fishhooks.

Once Telemachi has done all this, he goes to choose a female tribute. He reaches in, brings back a slip of paper, and reads the name. "Josey Subso!"

I feel Nate turn around and then tremble besides me. We know Josey Subso. Or at we've least heard of her. Her mother has come to each of our houses more than once, begging for money to buy her daughter treatment. Josey Subso is thirteen years old and terribly sick with an incurable disease. How or why she's been selected is beyond me. All I know is I cannot allow her to go into the Games.

"Any volunteers?" Telemachi has begun asking and I rush forward towards the stage. "Me! I volunteer for tribute!" I exclaim. I feel Nate jerk around and follow me, grabbing my shoulder, shouting. I mute out his voice and pull away, giving him a genuine smile before standing on stage. Telemachi grins and claps me on the back. Nate watches helplessly. He must know I'll be okay. I can fight with a knife, bow and arrow. I can swim. But his face pains my heart, and I know his eyes are full of loss and fear. Because there will be other kids like me who know what they're doing. It makes me think—have I possibly given my life to someone who is bound to die?

**Nolen Rivers**

I don't expect it when they call my name next. But all of a sudden there's "Nolen Rivers!" and kids turn to stare at me and I just smile. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. I'm certainly not going to start crying, shivering or fainting in fear. I intend to be a competitor in these games, winner or not. There_ is_ crying though, from where my little sisters stand, all huddled together like a group of small birds. None of them are eligible for the Games yet, but my sister Sophie will be starting next year. I wonder if I'll be back to prepare her then. I can't actually protect her, but I can hug her and kiss her and tell her everything's going to be fine. In other words, lie to her. My mother tries to calm my siblings, but I can see that she is heartbroken as well. First she looses her husband and now her only son.

Even if I win, will I come back the same person? I will become a murderer in these Games, if I intend to survive. But I don't want to be a Career. Even being from a so-called "Career District", it just isn't who I am. I am the confident funny guy who can swim like a speedboat, who is fit and who can stab nearly anything that moves with a trident. I don't want to travel in a group of other kids who are gifted and tough like me. It sounds like a recipe for disaster. Say it gets down to all those Careers as it has in the past, then what happens? I'd be a goner for sure. Some of these kids don't need tridents to break your neck.

Telemachi congratulates both me and…Ryan. She's from the wealthier part of the District 4, so I don't really know her even though we're the same age. When we shake hands she grits her teeth at me in a tight smile.

"Good luck, Rivers" She wishes me in a humorous voice. I cannot tell if she is being genuine or sarcastic.

"You too," I respond anyway. She's be a decent ally. But for some reason, I can picture her as a Career for sure.


	8. REAPING: District 5

Thanks for your reviews! A couple things...

Un: I'm not as happy with this reaping as I was with the others but it'll do for now. I'll edit some things later. Flint's name is a pun on Clint Eastwood, if you did not notice :)  
Deux: If I write another SYOP Hunger Games, which I might do as like a sequel to these games, I think I'll skip the Reapings and go right to arriving the Capitol, or the train rides. It just takes too long D:  
Trois: I'm going to set up a poll soon on my profile where you can vote for who you want to win the games! Look for it soon!

Anyways, don't own the Hunger Games. I wish I did but alas -crycryteartear- ...Enjoy!

* * *

**Flint Westbark**

I stand surrounded by so many other kids. I know a lot of them. I go to school with them. I can see my twin fifteen-year-old brothers arguing bitterly a little ways in front of where I stand. Their names are Casco and Florus. My three other brothers also are in the crowd somewhere, my younger twelve-year-old brother, Marcus, my sixteen-year-old brother, Gren, and my eighteen-year-old brother, Tuck. I've also got a baby sister, Stem, but she's only 3 and obviously too young to be reaped. Six boys and one girl. We drive our mother mad.

My mom says I ask too many questions sometimes. But if I don't, how am I supposed to learn anything? I'll admit it; I wasn't born the brightest kid in the world like Marcus was. I got born with a slightly messed up head. But I turned out all right, I guess.

"Flint Westbark!" Who's calling my name? I glance around, confused. Kids have turned to stare at me, some are giggling, and some are rolling their eyes. Is there something on my shirt? I dust off my hand me down gray suit self-consciously. "Flint Westbark?" The voice again. Who the heck is talking to me?

"Flint—" A girl I go to school with named Anya shakes my shoulder. "It's you Flint, you've got to go up—" She speaks hesitantly. I don't get it, until she points towards the stage. By now everyone has turned to look at me. Suddenly I realize who was calling my name.

**Alexa Stevens**

"Can he not hear well or something?"

My friend Karina asks me as our escort calls Flint Westbark for the second time. The escort, Helves, has begun sweating profusely, knowing that the Capitol will probably be guffawing at our district and Flint's stupidity.

"No," I try to explain, just as Flint seems to understand what's going on. He hurries up to the stage, looking embarrassed and completely out of sorts. Karina and Evangeline, my two best friends and I turn to face the front once again. Helves glares at Flint, angry that the young boy has stalled everything. He must think Flint made him look bad. In my opinion, he didn't need Flint's help there. His bright green wig hurts your eyes, and you can tell it's not his real hair because it had begun to slip to one side, revealing a bald head underneath.

"Any volunteers?" Helves asks the crowd icily. I expect one of Flint's five brothers to step in; I know the Westbark family okay. They live a few streets down from us and I work with Flint's brother Gren on occasion, since we're the same age. But none of them do. I can't help but be a little shocked. I see Gren to my far left. He is looking away from Flint and the stage. He looks as if he might be crying.

"Let's get on with it, then" Helves tiptoes away to select a girl tribute. I sigh and glance at Flint again. His hands are clasped together in front of him, his eyes wide and timid. He looks like a rabbit that's about to be devoured. I feel so bad for the poor guy, like I just want to give him a hug. Maybe I'll visit him when he goes to the Justice Building before he gets sent away on the train to the Capitol. "Poor guy" I mutter and my friends nod in agreement.

Helves has returned with a name. The name is Alexa Stevens.

Evageline grips my arm tightly and Karina begins to cry. I just stand there paralyzed before forcing myself forward. I have to shake my friends off me as I make my way up. My blood feels if it's gone cold. My body seems to be controlled by an unearthly force that drags me up to the stage and places me next to Flint. Now there are two fearful tributes that Helves stare at. "Your tributes for District 5, Flint Westbark and Alexa Stevens" He says flatly, and even though the crowd claps, there is no enthusiasm in the echoing sound.

Flint turns to me, and I turn to him. We know each other at least a little. We shake hands and I feel like I might cry. Because as much as I want to comfort Flint, I am now in need of a hug too.


	9. REAPING: District 6

vote for your favorite pair of tributes on my profile!

**Oceanus Shaw**

I pull my blue blazer on as I walk out the door with my father. He grunts and tries to smooth down his shirt and tie. I sigh and do my best to ignore him as he mutters curses as we walk to District 6's square. I put my hands in my pockets and stride ahead of him, feeling wide awake. This year, my name will be entered into the Reaping 14 times. Even though I've just turned fifteen, we need the tesserae. I'm still in school but also work part time getting injected with a variety of chemicals and medicine that need to be tested before it is sold. Yeah. I love my job. I love my life.

District 6 is somewhat wealthy compared to a couple of the other districts, because we manufacture medicine which is of course, essential. Unfortunately we are not one of those wealthy families. Actually, we were, once. My dad supposedly was a genius with medicine in his earlier years, and with a number of other doctors created a very successful pain killer medicine. So successful, in fact, that he went to the Capitol to work. When he was there, he fell in love and got a woman pregnant. Once she found out, she decided whole heartedly that she did not want to raise a child that was half a filthy district slob. Hence I was born, and my father eventually returned with me to District 6, gambled away most of his money and spent the rest on alcohol. Now I take care of him. He doesn't really appreciate it, but it doesn't stop me. He's my dad after all, and I know, unlike my mother, that deep down, he loves me.

"Hurry up," He spits at me, now walking at my side. "You'll be late to the bloody Reaping"

I don't reply but pick up the pace. The square is now in view, already crowded with citizens. My father will have to stand on one of the streets a little ways away, since we're late. A peacekeeper spots me and gestures over. I turn to my dad, who stares back at me with a sleepy look.

"Bye dad, love you" I tell him, holding my hands behind my back.

He curls his lip at me "Little bastard," He grunts after a moment. He turns and walks away. I sigh and watch him go before the peacekeeper calls me over. He gets me through the crowd to my age group and I spot a few of my friends who I join as quick as I can.

They wave and nod at me, but do not speak, because our mayor as already started talking. It is only when he finishes his speech about our country's history and begins to introduce District 5's escort then my best friend Javelin smiles at me. "You made it just in time—you missed the bets though. Mac's certain his older brother's going to be tribute this year".

My friends do not know of my hellish life at home. They know I live with my dad, but they don't know the things he does to me and the names he calls me. They suspect I have just 5 names entered in the Reaping just like them. I smile back and laugh a little. "Mac says the same thing every year. I didn't even think his brother was eligible anymore".

"I know, me too!" Agrees Javelin, perhaps a little too loudly. A girl on our left shushes us and we just grin like idiots.

**Aurora 'Rory' Tinsel**

"I can't see a goddamn thing!" I complain, occasionally leaning forward on my tiptoes to try to get a glimpse of the stage. My three friends laugh at me, and my best friend, Tin turns to me. "Want to sit on my shoulders?" He offers, wiggling his eyebrows. I scowl and push him playfully on the arm. "Maybe if I wasn't wearing a dress" I stare down at the red button down thing in annoyance. My mother forces me into it every single year.

Our escort has just finished introducing our past victors, all 2 of them, and is about to announce the boy tribute. Even though I don't have the best view, she's so loud I don't need to see much. The name she announces next is Oceanus Shaw. I snort and emit a giggle. His name has anus in it.

My friend Poncetta nudges me and points out the boy leaving his group and making his way to the stage. He doesn't look a lot like other District 6 boys do. There's a weird Capitol kind of look to him. His hair is very spiky and bronze, and his eyes are bright blue. He's cute looking and at least has put on a confident face. I don't know if I believe it though. It's most likely just a mask. On the inside, he's probably freaked out of his mind. I would be. He passes us and eventually reaches the stage, where he looks out at the crowd. Our escort quickly moves on to select a female tribute.

"Do either of you know him?" I ask my friends. Poncetta and Tin shake their heads but Orion pauses a moment before responding thoughtfully. "I think his mother or father is from the Capitol. My kid sister goes to school with him, she mentioned him once or twice"

Our brilliant escort has returned. "Aurora Tinsel!"

Well hell.

"Crap" I announce loudly as people turn to stare. I put on a ridiculous goofy smile and head towards the stage. My friends have gone silent, and I don't dare turn around to see their faces. Once I get to the stage, our escort asks for volunteers. I hold my hands open, as if asking "Anyone, anyone?"

Of course no one volunteers. Oceanus and I shake hands. Everything else is a blur—I am driven to the justice building in a car and escorted into a small room by Peacekeepers. In no time my parents arrive with my sister and brother. We cry, we laugh. Next, Tin arrives and raps me in a gigantic bear hug, burrowing his face into my shoulder. We stay like this until I pull away. "Don't get too sappy," I warn, refusing any tears to bubble in my eyes "You'll look like one of those it girls"

He smiles. It is sad. I have never seen Tin cry before, but there are little pools of water forming in his eyes. I wince and kiss him on the cheek. "What strategy do you think I should go for, then? Dumb and beautiful? Cheesy and humble?"

"No" He says firmly, taking my hand in his. "Just be you, Rory. When I watch you win on television, I want the real you. Promise, okay?"

"Okay," I answer. His words dig deep into my skin. I've been a hard-core tomboy my whole life, handling dart guns and knives, beating boys twice my size in sports and games. Will I be able to do that in the Hunger Games? I'll need to do so much better, but there's a slim chance I can pull it off. If there are Capitol idiots who will believe in me like Tin, then that chance may bloom to save my ass. "Okay," I repeat "I promise"


	10. REAPING: District 7

sorry this reaping is so short! i actually really like these characters too, but part of me feels brain dead and I could not think of anything to write. i promise to include more on your tributes, but truthfully I just want to get the reapings done!

you can vote for your favorite tributes on my profile. i don't own the hunger games :(

**Alei Brann**

The girl who volunteers take the stage and the crowd's breathe away. The girl who volunteers for tribute has almond shaped blue eyes and wavy red hair. The girl who volunteered for tribute is waving and squealing with excitement. The look on everyone's faces tells me that I am right; everyone assumes that this girl is crazy. But I know Pearl Anderson all too well.

We are the same age and attend school together. She is one of the more popular girls while I sit in the middle of things, more or less. I stick with my pals. I don't have much time for social work because I have my family to attend to. So if you ask me the name of someone in my grade, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you who he or she was. But I do know Pearl Anderson. All the kids our age know Pearl. She makes herself known, you could say. And everyone who does know her are probably cheering on the inside, because they realize that District 7 might actually have a victor this year. We've only had two victors in the 23 years the Hunger Games have been held, Marsha Thorton and Gashwin Hop. Gashwin actually won the second Games, if I'm remembering correctly. They watch Pearl now and glance at one another, uncertain if they've just gotten an overly enthusiastic tribute or a complete loon. I smile slightly at the scene because in a way, it is comical. The escort seems to be inspired by Pearl's enthusiasm and continues merrily about how he will now select the male tribute.

Oh, I also forgot to mention. I've been having this weird feeling all morning. You know that feeling, don't you? When you just know something's going to happen to you. It's like a suspenseful, edgy spark that creeps into your brain. So when my name is called next, I don't act surprised because I'm not. As I walk up to the stage, I look up to see Pearl watching me, like a hawk watches her prey. Figures. I would get chosen for the games that have the killer district partner.

**Pearl Anderson**

My parents wrap me in giant hugs in the farewell room, telling me how amazing I am and how they're so proud of me. As I return their warm embrace, I sneer at my two brothers who stand in the corner of the room, looking sulky and relatively pissed off. They're without a doubt wishing they'd stepped up and volunteered as well, being the pride of the family. As my parents pull away I replace the mocking sneer with an eager smile. "I'm really looking forward to it," I tell them truthfully "I sure will miss you though"

"Oh honey, we'll miss you too. We'll be rooting for you" My father claps me on the back and my mother fails to hold back tears. The Peacekeepers have made it to the door and are motioning for my family to leave. My brothers waste no time pushing the doors without another glance at me, but my parents cheer me on even as they are being forcefully pulled out. Once they have disappeared for good, I grin at the ceiling and lean back on the plush couch I sit upon now. I honestly can't wait for these games to start. I intend to ally myself with the Careers—but I'll make sure I do this as soon as possible. Probably around when we begin training, I'll throw some knives around to show them that they'd be foolish killing me off like some of those other weaklings. I've always thought just because you aren't from a Career district, it doesn't mean you can't be a Career.

My friends Lila and Shelly visit me next, telling me about how lucky I am to be on television and how they'll know I win the games. I listen to them, but in my head I am already laying out a deeper plan to pull off my victory.


	11. REAPING: District 8

Thank you for your patience! Don't worry, I'm not going to leave this story to die. What do you think of the revised title?

* * *

**Maximum Mao **

That dude trudges up to the stage as if there's a permanent rain-cloud over his head. I'm not joking, his misery seems contagious—the whole crowd is oddly grimacing and frowning. But they're probably just disappointed they got such a lousy tribute. This kid looks about my age, but he came from the group of sixteen year olds, and he has hardly any meat on his bones. He's like a skeleton; bones nearly visible against pale white skin and long black hair that cascades over his face. I feel myself frowning as well, but listen up again as our District's escort speaks.

"Any volunteers?" She asks, only receiving a gloomy silence in return. "All right then—then I give you your male tribute District 8; Tycho Weatherby!"

She says it as if it's our loss for not volunteering a more fit and well-fed tribute. Truthfully though, there aren't very many. I'm lucky to be one of those capable kids, with enough to eat and a beautiful face to match. Even though I'm only twelve, I'd _totally_ be a contender in the games if my name was chosen.

Sad thing is that Tycho would actually be quite handsome if he didn't look like such a freak.

Our escort's name is Velvia, and her eyes are a bright shade of red, which make her look quite demonic, to be honest. She looks as if Valentine's Day just threw up on her with her dyed pink skin and pink hair. If this isn't bad enough for your eyes, both her arms and each cheek is tattooed with the white outline of a heart. Ugh. If I was in the Capitol, I'd use my makeup to enhance my beauty, not turn myself into a holiday.

She's choosing the female tribute now, rummaging through the slips like it's a treasure hunt. One slip has my name on it. Just one. Out of like, I dunno, thousands?

But what-do-you-know—Velvia chooses that slip, that _single_ slip, out of all the others. To most, it's a sentence to death. To me, it's a dream come true.

I can hardly control my excitement as my name is announced via loudspeaker, and I push my way through all the crowds of kids since I'm in the back with the other twelve year olds, as fast as I can. Once I finally arrive in the spotlight, I give a small smile to the crowd below me, then to Tycho and then to the cameras. Then I put on a tough look—as tough as I can look wearing a dress and heels. I'll save seduction for the arena, I decide, as Velvia asks for volunteers.

**Tycho Weatherby**

"Then, District 8, your female tribute, Maximo Mao!"

"Just Maximum, please," Responds the girl with a tricky grin as she turns to me with the exact same expression and extends her hand. I stare at it for a moment before sighing and shrugging. I clasp my hand in hers, and she gives it a firm shake.

…She's pretty, I guess.

It's not that I'm thrilled to go to the Games, but…

There's nothing here for me either, so…

My parents are disappointed in me already, and they could deal with one less mouth to feed…

I don't really put a lot of emotion into things. I'm exhausted everyday from working and then coming home to a pitiful excuse for a dinner and then going to sleep, having vividly maddening nightmares, waking up, going to work without breakfast, having a meager lunch and sharing some morphling with this other rich kid who works with me, and then going home and having dinner if there's any more left and then going to sleep…

All my money I get from work I spend on morphling or other drugs that are being sold. My mother yells at me for not bringing it home to support the family; my four sister, mother and father and I, but I stopped caring a while ago. I guess that's why I'm not sobbing when I'm going into the Games. All this pain and responsibility will finally be lifted from my shoulders when I die.


	12. REAPING: District 9

**Thanks for your patience, I hope to have a few more Reapings up this weekend, because I have tomorrow and Tuesday off as well.**  
**By the well, have you heard the song Coming Home? I'm just listening to it now, and I think it (at least the chorus part) fits the games well. **

**Disclaimer! I don't own the Hunger Games. Duh.**

* * *

**Cormac Tabben**

"Is there a Cormac Tabben here? Ah, there he is, ladies and gentlemen—"

I drown out the sound of the escort's voice completely, ignoring the crowds of people and the cameras that surround me as I climb the steps onto the stage. I don't care. Not about any of them, not about my life. Not anymore, at least. I lost the one thing I cared two years ago—though it seemed like it was just yesterday.

"_Cormac—Cormac help me!" Erick's frantic shriek echoed through the streets and I ran as fast as I could towards his antagonizing cries. He was shouting and shouting, pleading for mercy. It was those kids again, those bastards who picked on him daily, except this time they'd gone too far._

_I turned the corner and there he was, lying in a pool of his own blood. His face was black and blue and red—blood gushed freely from a wound on his head and from his mouth. I dropped to my knees, cradling his head in my lap. To the side stood a group of five or six boys, two who stood grinning while the others looked on in horror at their own work._

"_Erick" My voice came out rough and broken. "Hold on, buddy, I'm going to get you home,"_

_But Erick's eyes had already become glassy and I could feel the rushed breath in his chest slowing. His grip on my arm loosened and he could no longer look into my eyes. _

"_No!" I shouted in pure anger, pure loathing now "No!"_

As I stand on the stage now, I spot some of the boys who killed my brother, looking at me with a sense of relief in their faces. Glad that they won't have to face up to what they've done in this life. They're damn right to be happy, because for the past two years I've wanted to kill them, to murder each one personally. As I think about it now, I suppose it really won't be that hard for me to kill the arena. But do I even want to get out alive? I cannot think of anything worth coming back to, with Erick gone. If I died, I'd be with him...

But I cannot decide if I am ready to give up fighting yet.

**Lowell Mackenzie **

"Lowell Mackenzie!"

_What? My name? B-but how could this happen?_

_Okay, stay calm. Think._

I reach the stage as quickly as I can, brushing through the crowds of people. I should be relieved; my thirteen-year-old sister could have been reaped. And I know if I can stay positive, I can survive the games.

So many people loose optimism in the arena, often giving up even before they've gotten there. I won't though. I may not be an experienced fighter, but I know a lot about other things; survival skills, speed, strong lungs from working long hours in the factories all day.

Our escort asks for volunteers but no one steps up the plate. Cormac and I shake hands, his eyes not meeting mine but instead they stare at the floor, lifeless. I can already tell that my District partner is one of those people, one who has given up.

For some reason this saddens me beyond being picked for the Games. His mom is known around the District for um, getting around with a lot of other men. He's had to suffer not knowing his father, but that doesn't mean he should give up on everything. I want to help him, but I don't know how.

We are brought off the stage and into a car, where Cormac and I each take a seat in the back and a chauffer steps in the front, starting up the engine. I glance at Cormac, whose eyes still stare into the carpeted car floor.

"Hey—" I say. He raises his head to look at me. Hesitantly I clear my throat.

"Don't give up this early, kay? You've still got a lot to live for, and I think you can win these games if you really put your mind to it. I know about your life and your mom, but that doesn't mean you have to suffer because of her bad decisions. Take control of your own life, make your own decisions." I finish in a light, comforting smile.

He just stares at me for a moment before smiling humorlessly and lowering his head again.

"Thanks, Lowell. I'll remember that when I see your face in the sky." Cormac replies, eyes drifting from my now paling face to the crowds of photographers surrounding our car.


	13. REAPING: District 10

**I'm almost finished with the Reapings, only two more to go! I want to finish them both this weekend so I can get started as soon as possible on the Games themselves!  
After the Reapings I'll have a chapter for Train Rides, a chapter for Chariot Rides, Training, and Interviews before the actual games. Each character will have at least one POV if not more in one of those chapters. This is just what to expect after the Reapings have been completed. PM me for any questions!**

**I'd also like to thank my many reviewers and readers! This is my longest going story and I don't plan on stopping until it's done. And you're reviews have given me the motivation. Without them, I don't know if I would have gotten past the first chapter. A particular shout out to OddCoupler222, Iwait4theRain, and Ani101 all of whom I believe have reviewed every chapter so far. You all rock and thank you so much for your reviews! Also I'd like to thank 3rdbase101, Baswriter, HaleeyJesseSmith, Ancolie as well as many others who have reviewed on multiple occasions. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story. I think you get the idea. So here is District 10!**

**disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. I wish I did, but I don't.**

**

* * *

****Luka Charn**

"For the gentlemen, we have…Luka Charn!"

Fear is the first thing that takes hold of me, dragging me down. I can feel my body shaking with the reality that I'm going to be sent into the Games. Suddenly there is shouting behind me and I whip around to see my twenty year old brother Danny push through the crowd, jumping over ropes to try and reach me. Only feet away I hear my girlfriend, Lidia say something and my best friend Ryle just stands there, looking just as shocked as I feel.

Danny is getting closer but Peacekeepers have rushed up from behind him and grabbed his shoulders, holding him back and keeping him from reaching me. They tackled him to the ground, pinning them underneath their weight and rage swells inside of me. As much as I want to run back to him, back to my family and my childhood, something inside me forces me to walk forward, towards the stage and towards my new place in the Games.

"Luka!" I hear Dany shout. I continue walking, refusing to let myself look back. My heart pounds in my chest, beating like a drum at a steady rhythm. Another emotion has risen in me, one of anger and hatred for the Games, the Capitol, everything. With now clenched fists, I reach the stage, stepping up and holding my head high. Even though I had put on a brave face, my frame still seemed to shake—both with frustration and with fear.

When our escort gets volunteers, there is a slight murmur through the crowd, but nothing else. Danny still is on the ground, staring up at me with an expression that only can be described as sorry. Our escort, rather than being unnerved by the scene, seems quite more enthusiastic that she'd been before. "Well then, let's move on and select our female tribute! For the ladies, we have…Luna Bell Luve!"

Luna Bell Luve is the daughter of the mayor of District 10. They're rich and "live pretty" in the way that they probably have more money that they deserve. The mayor stands on stage next to the escort, and at first he doesn't seem to understand that its his daughter whose been reaped. He stands there gaping and after a moment, peers over our escorts shoulder and rereads the name. Then he stumbles backwards, an even bigger look of shock on his face than before.

Meanwhile Luna has left her age group and mounted the stage, her face in a small little smile. She's blushing as she comes to stand next to me. Our escort asks for volunteers once again and the mayor gives the whole crowd such a death glare I'm almost convinced there will be someone who steps up to take Luna's place. But there isn't.

The mayor looks furious, humiliated and devastated all at the same time. Serves him right, I think to myself. But I can't help but feel sorry for Luna. Hell—I should feel sorry for myself—I'm going into the Hunger Games!

**Luna Bell Luve**

"Luna, I don't know how this could have happened. We love you so much Luna"

My parents are huddled next to me on the sofa, hugging me and bawling their eyes out. Oddly, mine are bone dry. I feel calm, more than anything else. And weirdly eager.

"It isn't your fault!" I hug them tighter. "You can't do anything about it. And don't forget I'm not completely helpless. I can get allies, I bet."

My mother tries to hold back her sobs so she can properly speak.

"But Luna, you're only fifteen—"

"And a half," I correct with a sigh.

"Just stay alive, sweetie" My father pleads with me, and on cue the doors swing open and a Peacekeeper gestures for them to leave. It's more polite than what they did with my friends Durby and Poppy just previously.

My parents don't say anything else as they leave the room, and I sit up and watch as the doors close slowly behind their pained faces.

Finally! Alone at last! Excitement replaces the regret that my parents had begun to settle in my mind. Just think—I'll be on television, the whole country will be watching me! All those boys praying I'll return home to marry them. I'm a bit nervous, but I'll kill if it means getting home. Most of all I'm thrilled to visit the Capitol. This is a once in a lifetime chance—I hope it just doesn't end in blood.

* * *

**Oh, I nearly forgot to mention! I'm looking for a beta, as I may have said before, and if you know anyone or who yourself are a beta, please contact me through PM! Thank you!**


	14. REAPING: District 11

**Kai Lucas**

I have two reasons for giving my life away. For one, it's already endangered already.

When I was six years old my father attempted to drown me in a large bucket of water one spring afternoon. I kicked and flailed, desperately trying to reach the surface but his strong hands held my head in the dark water. Just as I felt my consciousness slipping, I felt the hold on my head lift. Rearing out of the water, my vision blurred, I could just make out a boy about a year or two older than myself struggling to keep my father away. Later I learned that he had a name. Rachan. He grew to be my closest friend for five years. Then one day he died, accidentally disturbed a tracker jacker nest and was stung to death when gathering fruit from the orchards. They say he died peacefully. Others say they heard his screams from miles away.

This is the second reason. This day, Reaping Day, is the anniversary of Rachan's death.

My parents have abused me, both verbally and physically, my entire life. Don't you understand? The games are my only escape. When our escort reads the girl tribute's name, I do not even bother to listen. I stride forward, moving her out of the way emotionlessly, and step onto the stage for everyone to see.

"Oh! How excellent! What is your name, dear?" Our escort inquires. She is an older looking woman, but her Capitol accent is as annoying as ever. I believe this could be her final year as escort. She's been District 11's for years now. Canadia Wallows.  
"Kai Lucas" I respond coldly. I try my best to just stare at the ground, rather than at the crowd. Rachan was my only true friend, but people still will recognize me. From school, from the orchards. Around. As large as our district is, there will still be a few. "Wonderful!" Exclaims Canadia Wallows "Charmed, I'm sure-well, Kai Lucas, welcome to the Hunger Games!"

**Kekoris Foreman**

"Kekoris Foreman!"

No. _No no no no no!_

I don't want to believe it, but there's no getting around the fact that I'm going to be a tribute in the 23rd Hunger Games. There's a small part of me that hopes uncontrollably for a volunteer, like that girl Kai just did. But that was obviously a one-time deal. She looks like she has some serious issues.

Devil and Leon, my friends that are closest too me, grip my arm and urge me forward. Their faces are in disbelief. When they get older and get married and have kids, will they tell them about their friend, Kekoris, the funny, happy guy who went into the Hunger Games and never returned?

I step up onto the stage and after asking for volunteers, our escort tells us to shake hands. I try to give Kai a genuine handshake but she doesn't look at me and she grips her hand in mine. There is some applause from the crowd. We aren't bad tributes, I'm slightly on the younger side but we may not die right away in the bloodbath. I sneak another look at Kai. She's the one they're really cheering for. As I said, she definitely has problems, but that aside, she is without a doubt a fighter. My eyes wander down to stare at my hands. I wonder if they can kill.

"Hey," I begin as everyone is distracted by the reporters and photographers. "Why'd you volunteer? Watching it on television not real enough for you?" I joke.  
"Something like that" Kai responds, looking at a camera.


	15. REAPING: District 12

**Ferris Peterson**

Reaping Day pisses me off.

I mean my family is starving anyways, why do they have to punish us with this stupid game too? It's not likely any of my family members would get chosen; most aren't old enough anyway. But me, my sisters Shelly and Junie and brothers Slod, Jaq and Tem are. I come from a big family, okay? Plus you have to wait in a huge crowd when I could trying to be trading down at the Hob, or offering my labor to people who are constructing houses or something. It's a big waste of time, a waste of two lives, and a waste of…just…everything!

Right now at this moment I'm sandwiched between two giggling girls who are staring at me and whispering to one another as if I'm not there. They're both from the richer part of town—you can tell by their curly blond hair and round faces.

"What do you think he lives off of, dirt?" One whispered to the other. They've been doing this throughout all of the mayor's speech.  
"I have no idea—maybe he doesn't eat anything!" The other exclaimed.  
"That's it!" I hissed in a fierce whisper. "You don't know anything about my life, so shut the f—"

"Ferris Peterson!"

Shit. Are you kidding me? I look up to the stage, only to see the escort scanning the crowd and holding the slip of paper with my name on it up expectantly. I push the girls out of my way and they gasp, both realizing who I am. Rage wells inside me like nothing else has before. Everyone stares at me and I can't help it—two angry tears slid down my burning cheeks. It's not fair, it's not fair, I'm suffered enough, it shouldn't be me—

But it is me. The underfed, angry boy from the Seam.

**Abrielle 'Abbi' Robinson**

The boy—Ferris, making his way to the stage now was standing not too far away from me when his name had been called. You could see he was crying too, and he lowered his head as he mounted the stage, trying to hide it. I felt bad for him—and I felt so grateful for the next few minutes that I had a nice home, nice clothes, good food I could eat every night and that most of all, I wasn't going to go into the games. This, however, only lasts a few minutes.

"Well," One of my best friends, Nathan whispers to me and my other friend Ava in a high-pitched voice, his attempt to lighten the mood. "At least he's handsome. I mean, like really, rally hawt" He pretends to squeal. Ava laughs out loud, but I just stifle a weak smile. It feels wrong to laugh at someone whose body will be returned to the District slaughtered and broken.

There are no volunteers when our escort asks for them. She moves on to pick the female tribute. Hurrying over to the glass ball, she pulls out the first one she gets.

"Abrielle Robinson!"

I feel like I've been slapped in the face, but with a two-ton brick. I pull myself away from my friends' grasps, forbidding any fear to show on my face. How ironic, I think, as I get onto the stage. I see my family, my little twin brother and sister Rosy and Lukas and my three-year old baby sister Mia. Rosy and Lukas have some idea what's going on, and they're both huddled together, crying silently. Mia sobs loudly, probably out of confusion though she must sense something is wrong. My parents clutch her tightly, not wanting to look at me for fear of crying themselves.

Will my siblings remember me? Will I ever see them again?

* * *

**Yay, and the Reapings are finally over and done with. Thank god. Train Rides are next! Also, keep in mind who you'd like to sponsor because after the interviews are completed, I'm going to be asking for those. Thanks for everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far, please keep up the good work! Also thank you to stinkermrpink who is going to be my beta for the rest of the story, I think. **

**If you have any questions, comments or anything, review the story or PM me.  
**


	16. Road To Nowhere

**Sorry for such a long wait! These are the Train Rides and we see the POVs of four tributes here. Everyone's tribute will get a chance in the chapters before the games, so don't worry if yours' wasn't in this chapter. Also, these chapters will be somewhat shorter so I can work up more quickly to the actual Games themselves, which will be long, detailed chapters of each day. So I hope you enjoy it! I'm still trying to work out how the sponsor points will work, but I believe I have a system that will work out. And finally, a big thank you to stinkemrpink who betaed this [half] of this chapter for me. I wanted to get the whole thing posted because I feel like it's been a while. Once she's done the other half I'll post the new version. Thank you!  
**

**Disclaimer: If I owned the Hunger Games, I would be out helping cast the movie. Or rewriting parts of Mockingjay. **

* * *

**Luka Charn, District 10**

You'd think I'd have a more rational thought as we make our way to the glistening silver train that will whisk us away to our doom, or, okay, the Capitol and the Games, but as soon as we make our way out the wave of photographers and reporters and the locomotive comes into view, the first thing that comes to my mind is _whoa, that thing is huge._

The second thing that comes several seconds after is how out of place it looks. In District 10, people use horses, wagons, or their ever reliable own two feet to get them where they want to go. These people couldn't survive a week in our shoes. I feel a tug on my sleeve and look to see Luna next to me, steam from the train swirling up around her ankles. "Isn't it something?" She says, eyes still focused on the silver bullet. This is the first time she's spoken to me. "Yeah," I respond after a moment of silence, unable to hold back a small smile, "Something."

We board the train and are shown to our own personal bedrooms, complete with a large bathroom and an area with a large wardrobe where we can change. Our escort tells me that she'll come and get me for dinner later, and for the time being to change and get comfortable. I take one look around and flop down on the bed. I hit the mattress and sink in, frowning. It's much too soft for my taste; my bed at home isn't nearly as cushy, but it's warm and I'm tempted to fall asleep almost immediately. Here I am thinking about beds when in less than a week I could be dead.

I try to brush off the notion by stepping into the bathroom and stripping down, throwing my jeans and shirt aside. That shirt was Danny's—I suppose he won't be getting it back. I hesitate when I actually get in the shower, because there are so many buttons, and I have no idea which one does what. Back home, we only have one small bath and shower, and it's old and rusty and only produces ice-cold water. It's better than what others have though, and it keeps our small family of three clean.

Finally, I end up pressing three random buttons which shower me in lukewarm water and blue bubbly shampoo that smells faintly of lavender, scrubbed down by a thick sponge thing. I step out of the shower, clean and wrap a towel around my waist as I go and search the wardrobe for something to wear. It seems like an almost endless selection of pants, shirts, and other accessories await me, so I pick up the first thing I see, a pair of khaki pants and a yellow and blue striped polo shirt. Then, I wait for my escort to come back.

But while I wait, my thoughts wander. What will I do, once I'm in the arena? What will the arena even be? Maybe there will be animals-that'd be a piece of good luck. I've always had a knack for animals, horses in particular since I've worked with them from a young age. Unless the animals were dangerous, ferocious beasts, I think I could handle it. I don't know how they'd help me win, though.

How would I possibly win? Would I kill, like my father? My dad was executed for murder three years ago—I don't want to turn into him. I think the guilt would overcome me in the end, too. Anyways, what's the point of being a winner when you've lost your decency and humanity? The thought just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so I'm grateful when I hear a knock on my door. Dinner.

**Lindy Waterson, District 3**

They bring dinner out in different stages. The first thing, a rich orange looking soup that our escort Vanilla Clydel calls pumpkin, is put in front of us, topped with a glob of cream in the center. Next comes a perfectly roasted duck complete with greens, spinach by the looks of it, with onions, carrots and green beans. After that coffee, (which I've had at home because my mother demands we always have it in our home at the Victor's Village) with assorted fruit tarts and then an overly large black and white cake that Vanilla Clydel calls tuxedo cheesecake. The food is so overwhelmingly rich, warm and good I find it hard to hate. But I do hate it. They eat all this crap and more every day while people in our district go starving. I'm lucky to live in the Victor's Village, because we actually get some of the good stuff. To add to that my mother is a baker, so we are presented with pastries, breads and other baked goods that she makes us try. But it doesn't even compare to all this. I eat it all not because I want to, but because I need my strength if I'm going to win.

Crawford seems particularly impressed with the food. He can't stop staring at it, and eats it very slowly, as if tasting each bite. It doesn't bother me, but it seems to unhinge Patterson, our male mentor, after a half an hour of nibbling.

"Would you please _eat_ your food! Honestly," The young man grumbled a gaggle of curses under his breath while our female mentor named Flicka just frowned at him. I'm lucky that Flicka is my mentor, rather than my mother, but it would technically be considered unfair if she was my mentor. But that's all District 3 has, just three victors. I suppose it's better than some, were there have only been one or two. So far I've analyzed these two and only gotten that Flicka has a guilty conscience and Patterson is just bitter. I don't see how either is going to help me achieve victory.

"Leave the boy alone, Pat." She says, trying to concentrate on her own meal. "He's just fourteen.  
"Oh, right, I forgot. And how old are you again?" Patterson sneers rudely, dull brown eyes now flashing in my direction. "Fifteen? We certainly have a pair of winners this year."

I have the urge to reach out and smack him across the face, but I hold myself back, only allowing a steady glare back at the man. If I'm going to play it sweet and innocent, then getting into a scuffle with one of my mentors probably isn't the best idea.

"I'm finished. May I talk to you?" I turn to Flicka, politely wiping a napkin over my mouth.

"Of course. Patterson, you can advise Crawford too once he's completed his meal. Then we should watch the Reaping—come on, Lindy." She gets up and leaves the room. I follow without a look back at the table. Poor Crawford. Getting a crappy mentor is one of the worst things that can happen to a tribute. At least Flicka is willing to give me advice.

We walk to a small room where a plush couch and large chair are placed, along with a small side table and wide screen television set. From the windows I can see distant lights, which must be from District 1 or 2. We'll be arriving relatively soon, and the closer we get to the Capitol, the more my overwhelming rage bubbles over.

"So," Flicka finally says after we've settled down and gotten comfortable. "Your mother has told me plenty about you. How do you want to play these games?"

"I don't know," I respond dumbly, innocently. Better start pretending now. But Flicka sees right through my disguise.

"Lindy, you're the daughter of a victor, the fiercest in 3. I know she's trained you and your siblings for years now. You probably have the best chance to win out of all the kids in District 3. I know it, Patterson knows it, and Crawford knows it. You know it. Are you sure you want to be the harmless sweet girl when everyone believes you have such a good chance already?"

Her questions surprise me, but so does my own answer. "Yes—I don't want to be a target. The Careers will pick me out easy if they know what I'm capable of,"

"Or," Flicka says casually, "They'd ask you to join them,"  
"I don't want to," I reply back forcefully, "I can win on my own,"

Flicka is quiet but she finally shrugs. "Alright, you got it. Shall we take a look at your competitors then?"

**Rory Tinsel, District 6**

"Move over Anus," I say, as I plop down on the sofa next to the younger bronze haired boy who just sighs as he moves to the right. On my other side is our male mentor, Gallic, and next to him are Emily and Rousetta, our female mentor and escort. "By the way Anus, I forgot to ask. How's it like to finally be back home?" I ask as casually as possible, with a light smile on my face. I don't expect the reaction I get back. Small glistening tears appear in the corner of Oceanus' eyes.

I shouldn't have said that. It was cruel. I mouth a sorry just as Rousetta lets out a yelp of horror. "You're messing up my hair!" She shouts at Gallic, who sits there looking unconcerned. I see him roll his eyes.

"You mean your wig," I say sweetly, looking around me after Rousetta gives me a death glare. "It is a wig, isn't it?"

"Let's watch the Reapings," Rousetta hisses, turning on the television set. Oceanus laughs a little bit and I join him. He's not a bad kid at all really. I've always been fonder of guys than girls friend wise, and maybe if he was older, and I knew him, Oceanus and I would have been friends. But now we're just tributes, and if I'm going to win, it'll mean he'll have to die. I stop laughing and turn my attention back to the T.V. set.

District 1 comes first. The boy is the Career norm; brutish, excited. The girl looks a little different than your average District 1 tribute, but just as dangerous. District 2 is similar; both tributes seem clever and well trained. By the look on the boy's face he already seems to be calculating a winning strategy. The announcers mention how the girl is the younger sister of a tribute who went into the Games a few years ago.

District 3 is at least a little less pathetic than usual. I mean, the boy still is definite bloodbath material, but the girl is a daughter of a past victor as the escort announces gleefully, even before the announcers do.

District 4 has two more capable looking tributes, though maybe not as strong as the other Career districts. District 5 is nothing really special, both looking scared out of their pants. And then it's us. I hear Oceanus suck in his breath as he watches himself make his way to the stage, looking semi-confident with his head up. But I can see his hands shaking. Then me, and oh god, why the hell did I decide to look so ridiculous? Everyone on the couch emits a giggle as I shout crap and make my way up, even Emily, who hasn't spoken more than three words since we got on the train. She's a known morphling addict. Great. I don't expect that to get me any help, but at least I'm memorable. We both are, actually. Oceanus in his unique appearance and background, and me for my goofiness and profanity!

District 7 is pretty impressive, followed by a less than impressive District 8 where their tributes are a washed up druggy and a twelve year old. District 9 has a good-looking guy tribute that I tell myself to keep an eye on. District 10 and 11 are the average, though the girl from 11 looks as tough a nails. And then the Reapings end with the typical District 12 tributes.

"Are there any clear favorites?" Oceanus asks Gallic after the Capitol seal has appeared on the television. Gallic shakes his head. "It's a little too early to say. Once we reach the Capitol I'll have a better idea of who is ahead in the bets, but my guess is that District 1, 2, 4 and 7 will be the favorites. Then again, you guys might be too."

At first I think he's just being nice but then Gallic continues.  
"Oceanus, you're a half Capitol, good-looking boy. You might not have a lot of experience, but Capitol girls will like you immediately. And Rory, you made a…_clear_ impression during the Reaping. You guys are noticeable."

"So we wait and see," I say, glancing at Oceanus, whose face seems lifted in just the slightest addition of hope.  
"We wait and see," Gallic repeats, turning off the television.

**Sulla Hart, District 2**

I open my eyes and feel off at once. We are no longer moving along smooth rails—we've stopped. I get up and out of bed immediately and dress in a pair of black shorts and a sharp white collared shirt that has a 2 printed in the left pocket. The outfit brings out the green in my eyes, making me look even more attractive. I exit the room just in time to see Ashkai leaving hers. I pick up my pace until I reach her, and we fall into step.

"Nervous?" I ask her politely, offering my arm.  
She gives me a look. She isn't falling for my charm like most girls were. Ashkai is smart—we're both trying to play one another and it isn't working. So I just continue to smile. After a moment, she smiles back, linking her arm in mine.

"No," She replies finally, "Why should I be?"  
"It was a stupid question," I agree without hesitation, holding the smile and twinkle in my eye. We reach the dining room where breakfast is being brought out. We take seats next to one another just as our escort rushes in.

"Eat quickly please!" She puffs out, clearly running short of breath. "The reporters are already surrounding our train and District 1 is already out getting all the attention!"

I don't see how that's her problem, but I eat as quickly as I can, which is tough considering there's so much to eat. Once I'm finished I wipe my mouth and wait for Ashkai, who's taking her time. Our escort still stands in the doorway, stomping her foot and looking over her shoulder every so often. I wonder where our mentors are—most likely outside taking questions and getting some spotlight. Apparently winning the games isn't enough for them, they have to have the attention even after. I turn my attention from our escort back to Ashkai. _How can I break you?_ I wonder, trying to decipher a way. Her weak points? There's her brother, who died in the Games. That'll work. And her father, who to me seemed to push her into the Games. I'll get close to her and find out more about her. I'll make her an ally, not an enemy. She'll grow to trust me.

Once Ashkai is finally done I offer her my hand which she takes, and our escort half pushes us out the door of the train. Sunlight blinds me momentarily and then just after I regain my vision, camera flashes make me squint. I feel Ashkai's grip on my hand tighten, and I don't let go. Reporters, asking us all types of questions, suddenly swarm us. I put on a brave face and answer them all, because if I'm going to win the Games, there's no better place to start than with these clueless idiots. They'll spread whatever I tell them like wildfire. I can see the sponsors signing up already.

"Sulla! Sulla Hart!" One pushes his way up to me, pointing a microphone into my face. "Tell us a little bit about yourself!"  
I start with a look at Ashkai and a smile.

**Hope you guys liked it. I apologize for the lame ending.  
Also: what three tributes do you think will be the last ones standing? answer this in your review. in other words, review, please.  
**


	17. All The World's Stage

**Sorry, this was delayed a bit. But it's also the longest chapter yet. Eight pages on word, I think. The chapters will be getting longer as we continue with the story, my apologies they've been so short before. I'm fairly happy with this one, anyways so hopefully you guys all are too. Tell me who some of your favorite characters are, and if I should do a sponsor system or not. I'm leaning towards not. But if there's certain tributes people like, maybe they'll be a little more fortunate. Or maybe not -evil laugh-**

**Also, as random as this is. You can also give me tips to help me not procrastinate. I'm so bad at that. ALSO: this is still HollisInc, I just changed my penname. I'm not sure if I'm keeping this one either, so just keep that in mind too. This chapter has been betaed yet, I just wanted to get something else because I feel like I've left you guys hanging. So sorry for some grammar mistakes that may be in there. I'll switch it out for the betaed version once it's been done.**

**Disclaimer: Of course I own the Hunger Games! I also own part of France and invented animal crackers!**

* * *

**Abrielle "Abbi" Robinson, District 12**

I feel brand new, like my old life has just been stripped away in a matter of hours. My prep team has greased me down, moisturizing my skin, taking away any bit of hair on my body, and emphasized the curl in my light blond hair so it bounces off my shoulders. They're finishing up, applying a light makeup to my eyes and lips, and asking me rapid questions about my life back home. I try to reply as sweetly and tolerably as possible.

"At least you aren't a complete hairball—remember the girl from last year, Conswela?" The incredibly short male member of the team called Kempsey comments to the middle-aged woman on my left with silvery light blue hair and skin.  
"It was as if we'd never see her actual skin!" Conswela agrees with a light, high-pitched laugh—one that makes me want to plug my ears and scream. At first I could take these people, but after about two hours I've had enough. That poor girl from last year was from the Seam and unlike me, went hungry almost every day. They had more important things to worry about than looking 'acceptable'. I force myself to keep quiet and not snap back a heated remark at the three of them.

"Done!" Jallinger ushers Conswela and Kempsey away from me, and the three of them stand back, arms folded. They mutter to one another, making remarks about how they did such a good job, and how they're so fortunate to have something to work with. All the while I stand there. I'm not a doll. I'm not a painting.  
"It's a shame we didn't get assigned to District 4 or 2 though—think of the possibilities there!" Kempsey continues, shaking his head in disappointment. "In a way I feel like my talent's being wasted!"

I've had it with these morons. "Get. Out," I hiss bitterly, and they all turn sharply to stare at me in surprise, like they'd forgotten I was there.  
"What—" Conswela begins but I cut her off, in a louder roar this time "Get out!" I shout and they squeal and rush from the room, tears streaming down their brightly colored faces. My head is still pounding as I grab my thin black robe from the corner of the room and wrap it around me defensively. Sitting back in a small chair I try to compose myself. Just think about something nice, like…puppies. Or home.

But puppies won't help me here, and home just makes me think of my family and how there's a decent chance I'll never see them again. Gosh, I need to be more positive.

My thoughts are interrupted by a trying-to-be-obvious clear of the throat that comes from the doorway. I turn my head sharply to see a woman standing there with incredibly white, freakishly pale skin that is only emphasized by her bright pink lipstick and jet-black hair color. She looks at me and tilts her head a little to the side. At that moment I feel so awkward I can't even bring myself to greet her.

"What's this I hear about you shouting at your prep team? We can't have you becoming your partner." The woman lets out a breathy sigh and strides in, taking a seat next to me. "I'm Porcelain, and I'm your stylist. May I also say Abbi, that your hair looks wonderful. They did outdo themselves this year."

"Oh." I finally get out, as a short-lived silence ensues. I crack my knuckles in slight irritation. Porcelain lets out another heavy sigh. "Well, shall I present you with your outfit now, or shall we eat first?" She asks me, a certain tone of impatience in her voice.  
"Outfit," I snap back, matching her demeanor. Honestly, I'd rather see what I'm wearing now and just get it over with.

Porcelain gets up out of her seat quickly, with a new sort of giddiness and she disappears from the room for only a matter of minutes, when she's returned triumphantly with a chalky black gown that is embroidered around the waist with a string of pearls. It's poofy and large but actually kind of perfect. I don't understand the pearl concept—I mean, there's the saying that coal can be made out of pearls but obviously everyone knows that isn't true, right?

"Black is such a fantastic color. And your hair adds just the touch of color. We're dying Flerris' blond too, though it took a good five people to hold him down!" She laughs, as it's the funniest thing in the world. This lady sure does have some strange mood swings.

"You mean Ferris," I correct her, feeling oddly compelled to defend my District partner. "And the dress is very—beautiful. Thanks,"

She looks disappointed by my lack of reaction. "You'll be wearing a pearl necklace too—and these shoes—" She pulls out a pair of charcoal black heels from behind her back. "I just think that they're perfect. This is going to be my best year yet. Everyone's going to be talking about me and how I've outdone myself,"  
"Yeah," I reply absent-mindedly. I can't peel my eyes away from the dress. I'll be wearing it on live television in a matter of hours. And I can't help but imagine how pretty—how beautiful I'll be. It's a clear improvement over a coal miner's suit, and I can't believe I'm grateful for this freaky woman's imagination.

**Alei Brann, District 7**

"I may not be from District 7; but I feel like District 7 on the inside"

I groan inwardly and then try to hide my laughter in a cup full of tea. Honestly, this guy must be on loony juice. He's really something else. Apparently he's been District 7's stylist for years—they call him Nature. I wonder why. His short cut, dark green hair appears to look like moss and his tanned skin is complete with leaf tattoos. So like I said, something else.

We're eating lunch right now, a tray of multiple finger sandwiches, a basket of assorted fresh fruit, a tureen filled with a light, creamy broth with vegetables and little meat-filled pasta shells, thin cut fried potatoes called fries and a large vanilla and strawberry cake. And of course tea, which I've had to drink each day since I stepped on to the train.

"My apologies if the meal seems light, I just don't want to hurt my figure," Nature says in between bites. I give up on trying to hide my laugh and chuckle a little bit, which lands another completely confused look on the man's face. Did I mention this guy is like, stick thin? Anyways, the meal could feed my family for a good month if not more.

"Um, it's no problem?" I say, running a hand through my straw-like brown hair. I've eaten my full and I just want to get this Chariot thing over with. Pearl, on the other hand, has been ecstatic throughout the whole time. She's talked non-stop about her cleverly devised plan, and our mentors Marsha and Gashwin have barely been able to get their own opinions in. Then again, it's not like they're that helpful. Gashwin is the better of the mentors, so I'm grateful to have him. Marsha shrieks at nearly every abrupt sound or movement.

Nature and I continue eating for a couple more minutes until I wipe my mouth and finish. He stops too, looking me up and down and breaking into another big smile. "Don't move—and close your eyes!" He points at me, talking so fast it's difficult to understand. He speeds out of sight and I sit there, rather dumbfounded. He returns in a matter of seconds, holding what must be my outfit behind his back. "Why aren't your eyes closed, Alei? Oh, never mind—here it is! I want your honest opinion!" And with that he pulls it out from behind him. It is a brown pinstripe suit fashioned to look like wood from a fur tree with a bright forest green bowtie, complete with a woven stick and twig crown that can only be described as absurd.

"Well?" He squeals, "Is it wonderful or what?"  
"It's terrible. Let's get this over with." I say blandly, striding over and grabbing it from his hands. Nature's face is a complete mask of shock. What? He said to be honest.

I eventually am escorted down to the chariot after being dressed and see that Pearl is already there, dressed in a wavy leaf skirt, with a low cut tank top that looks like wood. In her hair is a bird's nest with feathers woven in and out in sort of a spiral.

"What took you so long Brann? Don't you just adore these outfits?" She tosses her light red hair over her shoulder, smiling devilishly at me. Most likely she's being sarcastic, but with Pearl it's hard to tell. So I don't answer her, just take my place stepping up into the chariot. Gashwin, who has his hands stuffed in his pocket, looking relatively solemn, suddenly approaches us. I peer over his head to see Marsha pacing back and forth, arms folded.

"Pearl, I need you to smile, look happy to be here. Shouldn't be hard for you," My district partner continues to smile, nodding.

"Alei, you can't pull off cheerful. Look stern. Smile, but don't dare overdo it." With one last look at our costumes he grunts and trots back to where Marsha stands. I'm actually satisfied with my instructions; even though they were somewhat insulting. The small, crafty smile that forms on my face is real. Our chariot is attached to a pair of dark brown horses and we are pulled into the line of chariots, right behind 6 who are dressed in what you'd call "slutty nurse and doctor costumes" to be perfectly honest. The girl's white skirt is revealing and exceedingly tight. The boy, who appears younger, is wearing a light blue doctor's uniform and his bronze colored hair is slicked back behind his ears. At least their outfits aren't doing them any favors either.

District 1 disappears first, followed by 2, then 3, and 4. Things seem to go by too quickly, and before I know it, we're up. Pearl nudges me, still smiling, and I feel my own smile waver, a new feeling of nervousness sinking in. I laugh at myself on the inside. Why the hell am I nervous? But suddenly my time to think is gone because the booming voice of the announcer rattles my eardrums.

"_And here are your tributes for District 7_!"

We're moving and light engulfs us. As soon as I regain my sight, loud cheers nearly deafen me. Pearl is waving vigorously at the thousands of spectators and I have a weird urge to join in, but I remember Gashwin's words. I smile slyly, not looking directly at the crowd but off into the distance. And as much as I like this approach, I feel like I'm being overshadowed. And suddenly I wonder if that was my mentor's goal all along. I break character and look at Pearl-she's waving, laughing, calling out greetings. She volunteered-she is happy to be here. And what am I? Forgotten, boring and just dang uninteresting.

My heart is beating any faster now, and an invisible cold sweat washes over me. There's a sudden rush to prove myself, one that I'm all too used to and without thinking lean forward, plant both my hands on the front rim of the chariot and hoist myself up, now standing just behind the horses. People gasp and cheer as I retain my balance. I grin at their reaction and at the idea of Pearl's reaction behind me. Oh what the hell. I've already come to terms with the fact that I may die. What's a little showing off going to hurt?

**Matt Dresdon, District 1**

"Yeah! What up Capitol? How ya'll doing?" I'm shouting at the top of my lungs, pumping my fist at the crowd. Me and Cree, or Cree and me, or whatever, are wearing totally awesome outfits. I have a tight fitted black shirt with the sleeves torn off, showing my muscles to the crowd. My shorts are shimmery and covered in gems that sparkle every moment I move. Cree has on this long, silver jeweled dress that makes her look totally hot. She's classy; I'm rough and tough. And we look totally awesome! I mean we're totally the best there. The ones that even come close are maybe like the tributes from District 2 and 4, who I guess are gonna be our allies. Sulla Hart, Ashkai Dayson, Nolen Rivers, and Ryan Archibald. I don't know that for sure, but I just sort of assume. Doesn't matter though, they'll all be dead eventually.

And thank god I'm not a District 11 tribute. Those two are dressed in twin scarecrow costumes, and they both look freaking uncomfortable. I mean I'd make it look good, because I have that kind of effect, but there's no hope for those two. The girl looks like she's seriously ready to rip it to shreds.

We parade around in our chariots for a good couple more minutes before all meeting side by side under the president's podium. President Lockhart steps out smiling, and begins almost immediately, deep into her speech. I for one am not. I don't even try to look interested. Instead I glance around, looking at the other chariots and the other tributes. I look at Cree briefly so see her tapping her fingers along the rim, spacing out. The speech seems to go on forever but finally is completed. We go around one last time before disappearing from everyone's view.

Once inside I hope off the chariot, stretching and yawning. "Shit," I mutter, "I'm hungry."

Cree steps down too, more carefully so she doesn't trip and fall. "Be quiet. 2 is coming." She says sharply, in a hushed tone. I don't get it. "Who's coming?" I ask, and she shushes me and grabs my arm to turn me in the right direction. Sulla Hart and Ashkai Dayson are headed towards us-Ashkai wears a curled, devious smile while Sulla is grinning pleasantly. His arm is in her's and they certainly look confident. I shoot a glance at Cree again and see something in her eyes. Jealousy? She catches me looking at her and looks away quickly. I do the same and wait for Sulla and Ashkai to reach us, which they do in less than a minute.

"Hi," Sulla Hart extends a hand to us, still wearing a charming smile. "Matt and Cree, right?"

"Yeah, that's right. I'm Matt Dresdon. This is Cree." I respond gruffly back, a slight grin creeping onto my face as I shake Sulla's hand firmly. He turns to Cree and she silently shakes his as well. Ashkai stands back watching us.

"It's nice to meet you both-since we'll be allies. I'm Sulla, and this is Ashkai. I expect 4 will be in with us as well. And of course there could be others. We'll all have to keep an open eye out at training tomorrow." Sulla says, speaking slowly. "What's your weapon of choice?"

"A knife, spear, sword, you name it," I grin proudly. I'm not gonna let this guy show me up, ally or not.

"Great. And you?" Sulla turns to Cree, raising his eyebrow slightly. She responds promptly: "Tomahawks"

"And I'm daggers all the way," Ashkai speaks for the first time, and I think I catch her wink at me. Man, she's hot. "And Sulla is great with traps and archery"  
"And I can do some pretty mean things with a knife!" I turn around to see the District 4 girl march over grinning. She's shorter but equally as pretty, and especially tanned. She's got on a flowing light blue dress and wears a jeweled crown. "Ryan Caroline Archibald, District 4."

"Where's your partner?" Sulla asks, not looking at Ryan but behind her, towards where her district partner stands looking at us before abruptly jogging off.

"Nolen? He's flying solo. Wants to do things alone, he says." Ryan shrugs. I snort. "Idiot."  
Ryan frowns at me. "I respect his decision. And you never know, he might change his mind."

"Nevertheless, that means there's only five of us. We should gather at least one or two more." Sulla runs a hand through his hair in thought.

"The girl from District 7, maybe. I saw her looking at us just a few minutes ago. She volunteered too." Ryan says, not looking in District 7's direction but nodding her head slowly. "Maybe even the boy too,"

"Let's wait till training." Sulla says, "Before we make any definite decisions."

Everyone agrees and we eventually part, headed back towards our own floors and rooms. We'll be unstoppable. I can already taste victory and it's great.

**Ryan Caroline Archibald, District 4**

I part from the rest of the Careers humming cheerfully, happy with myself. Now I'm in the alliance. I just can't wait for tomorrow, when the actual training starts. I'm itching to get my hands on a weapon and show them what I meant when I said "pretty mean things with a knife".

Surprisingly Nolen is waiting for me at the elevator. Also, there are the tributes from 12 and 8.

"Hey," Nolen says, offering me his hand. "How'd it go?"  
"Fine. Weren't exactly pleased to know you wouldn't be joining us, but that's okay." I take his hand and we step onto the elevator together. "I just hope you know what you're doing." I reply, not looking at him. Because this is the truth-I don't know what he's going for. Nolen is nice and funny and would make a perfectly decent Career and I assumed he was going to be until we arrived last night.

"I can only same the same for you, Ryan," I'm surprised by his response. I blink and study him. I'm having trouble figuring this guy out.

"It's not too late I mean. You could always stick with me." A smile, a serious one appears on his face, but it's hard to take anyone seriously when they're still wearing their "god of the sea" costume.

"Thanks," I say genuinely, "But no thanks. I've already made my decision. Too late to back out now."

"It's never too late." Nolen shrugs, and with that the elevator doors close and we fall silent. Rather than looking at Nolen I take a look at the other tributes, who haven't spoken a word since I got there. The ones from 12, I forget the boy's name but I'm pretty sure the girl is Abbi, are standing on opposite sides of the elevator. She has on a black gown with pearl accents that actually suits her. I wish I could say the same for the boy who has on a sharp black tux with pearl-like shoulder pads. District 8 has on blue and purple body suits made out of various materials. They come from the textile district-so I guess theirs work...just not well.

I suddenly wish Nate were here with me, which is awful to say. I'm glad he's not , just, I'd be laughing right now if he were here. We'd laugh over some of these ridiculous costumes and tributes. I guess I just wish I were home with him.

Nolen and I are the first stop, and he motions for me to step out first, which I do. Our mentors and escort are already waiting there in smiles, looking proud. But they aren't looking at Nolen as much. They're looking at me.

My mentor, Reesh, pats me on the arm and whispers in my ear. "Plenty of sponsors lined up already, Ryan. You're doing great,"

I can't help but grin. "I didn't even do much of anything." I tell her, but she shakes her head dismissively. Telemachi claps his hands together. "Both of you were so captivating, I had trouble tearing my eyes away." He adds, adjusting his suit every other second. Poncho glances between Nolen and me as drawls a small, cocky smile. "You two best be ready for tomorrow, that's all I'm going to say."

"Born ready," I answer, leaving them all behind as I bounce to back to my own room. There I strip out of my outfit and throw on a navy blue and white flower print skirt and a white tank top. Then I go straight to the drawer where I know I left it; my silver heart necklace, a gift from Nate.

I unclasp it and reach around to secure it around my neck, but suddenly I feel smooth hands take it from me and I nearly twist around and throw a punch. But it's not a wild attacker, it's Nolen. I didn't even hear him come in.

"Jeez Ryan, I thought you might take my head off. It's only me." He laughs a little before fastening the necklace for me. I don't know why I'm letting him help me and I'm ending it here. I pull away from his grasp, standing back a ways and looking him up and down. He mockingly puts his hands on his hips, pushing his chest forward. "See anything you like, speak up."

"You're unbelievable," I giggle. I can't help it.

Nolen drops his pose and grins in amusement too. "Ryan," He says, taking his time. "Just because we aren't allies, doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Friends. What better time to make a friend than the Hunger Games? To answer him, I playfully blow in his face. "So, friends?"

**Crawford Reed, District 3**

Finally. I pull the heavy weight helmet off my head and run a hand through my curly, sweat-filled hair. As cool as this helmet is, it weighs a ton. It's a round, black thing with a glistening reflective visor that comes down over my face. An antenna for, like, a radio, pokes out of the top it. It completes my techno-outfit; a pair of black pants and a black shirt that is covered and strung up with wires and discs that light up in rainbow neon colors. I think it's the coolest thing I've ever seen. Lindy has on a similarly covered dress, and a light-up electronic flower holds her hair up in a twisted bun. In the chariot we huddled together like a pair of little lost children. Lindy's faking the nervous, worried approach quite well. And I have nothing to fake.

Now we're back in the elevator headed back to our floor. We're sharing it with the tributes from 5, Flint and Lexi, I think. They look nice enough and I relate to the jittery look on Flint's face because it's not unlike my own. It's like he still hasn't gotten over actually being reaped yet. I don't know if I have either.

"Hi," Lexi smiles a little at the pair of us. "Your costumes are really amazing."

"Thank you," Lindy replies a-matter-o-factly, and I just nod. Lexi gives us one more little smile before turning away. In no time the doors have slid open and we exit. In the lobby waiting for us are Vanilla, Flicka and Patterson.

"You guys looked pretty good and scared. Keep up the good work," This is Patterson's only comment, thank god. I was expecting some sort of taunt or ridicule. To make things even better Flicka nods encouragingly and Vanilla enthusiastically backs her up. "So many colors! It was wonderful!" She gushes. "Don't forget, dinner starts in an hour, but you can come earlier if you'd like. Training starts tomorrow, so you two better get your rest afterwards!"

I nod again and Lindy looks uninterested. We break from our mentors and our escort and head back to our own separate rooms without a word. We've hardly spoken to each other at all since we've got here. I sort of do wish I had somebody to talk to.

I shut the door firmly behind me once I get back to my own room. Stripping off my outfit, I jump into the shower, enjoying the hot water that pours down my skin, erasing the sweat from my body. I take my time, but when I finally step out I dress in a loose short-sleeved shirt, brown jacket and a comfortable looking pair of blue jeans and red sneakers. My hair dries quickly into its normal, curly self. I don't even bother running a comb through it, I just race out the door, in a fairly decent mood considering I'm going to die in a matter of days.

I'm the last one to get to the table; everyone looks up at me save for Lindy when I come in. Even our stylists are there. At least, I think that must be Lindy's. My stylist, Desdemona, smiles and motions for me to sit next to her, which I do. The other person, a man with dark skin and bright red hair also gives me a friendly nod. Patterson grumbles impatiently until our dinner arrives; perfectly cooked steak, cornbread, mashed potatoes and gravy, a green salad with various dressings, a platter of cheese and crackers, coffee, lemon squares, and brownies. There's no doubt the food here is my favorite part about this place. If I had one wish, it would be to work here in the Capital as a chef.

I help myself to good-sized portions, and take my time eating each one. There's so much flavor it's hard to take in. The stylists and Vanilla make the most conversation, mostly discussing our outfits. Flicka joins in every so often.  
"It's a really great concept. I think the chariot rides add a better preview for the audience. I'm glad the Gamemakers decided to incorporate it," Lindy's stylist is saying. Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that the chariot rides were relatively new.  
"It certainly gives us more to do." Desdemona agrees. "I remember the first few years when they picked the tributes, got them here, and threw them into the arena, just like that."

The idea of it makes me feel nauseous. At least we have a few days to think about our deaths before actually experiencing them. Or maybe that's a bad thing. I can't decide.

Once we finish our meals, servants come in and take the plates away. I heard Flicka call them "avoxes" before, but I don't know what the term means exactly, or if it's just a fancy word used in the Capitol. When one, a girl of about 19, comes around to clear my plate, I clear my throat and politely ask her if she knew what extra ingredients the chef included with the potatoes and gravy. She gives me a curious, feeble look. I'm confused, so I ask again, a little louder this time.

"She can't answer you, idiot. She's mute, she's got no tongue." Patterson retorts, overhearing me and I look at him quizzically. "Huh?"

"They cut out her tongue." Desdemona says quietly, and the girl hurriedly tiptoes away. Why would they do such a thing? Just thinking about it makes me feel incredibly sick and I excuse myself. In my bathroom I vomit the contents of my dinner and order a glass of water and a bowl of something called ice cream instead. To be perfectly truthful I'd never had a really strong stomach.

That night I dream of being caught by the boy from District 1. He grabs my tongue and slices it off and I wake up screaming.

**Maximum Mao, District 8**

I've always liked the night. Cool air blows across my face and lifts my light brown hair off my back. But night here in the Capitol isn't the same. There are too many lights, too much noise. Ugh, way to ruin something else. But I think I'd still like to live here. Of course I'd love to. Just because the night isn't as lovely doesn't mean I wouldn't. What the hell am I saying?

I'm standing on my balcony, wearing a sexy black nightgown that I found in my closet. I'm not even thinking about much of anything. I'm just let myself drift. I don't miss home. It's barely even crossed my mind since I left. I mean, what's there for me anyways? Sewing and stitching all day with a bunch of other kids, who just complain, complain, and then complain some more? I don't have any friends or any family. There's nothing I miss, except the night. And a bunch of guys who follow me around a lot, asking me out on dates (Hey, what's to miss?).

Not that there aren't some pretty good-looking guys here. I just didn't get one for my district partner. Ugh, Tycho has about as much charm as a worm, and you know that permanent rain cloud I was talking about? Yup, still there.

Okay, so for strategy. My mentor Leona has tried to give me a few pointers, all of which I've ignored. I know what I'm doing. I'm the tough twelve year old who thinks on her own. And once I finally, finally get into that arena, I'll be the sexy, stealthy twelve year old that lures people to their ultimate doom. Hopefully they're a bit more creative than me and can think of an actual title for me. Gosh, I'm so excited. There's a certain thrill to it all that's indescribable unless you actually experience it. Sure, some may think the complete opposite way. That it's an indescribable fear. But they know nothing.

It's getting kind of cold, so I slip back inside my room, hopping onto the bed with a sigh. It's eight o'clock—maybe I should just get my rest considering training starts tomorrow. I'm looking forward to handling some new weapons and then performing in front of the Gamemakers. Unless I change my mind tomorrow, I'm going to show off some moves with a knife or two. They'll get a good sense of what I'm made of. I can only think of what the other tributes might do. Tycho will probably just stand there. Maybe lift a sack if he "feels like it". That boy Ferris from 12 might rush the table. The girl and boy from 2 will probably show off their talents with weaponry. I just need to be more unforgettable than all of them. I'm as confident as I can be. But there're still other things to think about.

What will the arena be like, I wonder? A forest? A peaceful looking neighborhood? Whatever they throw at me, I'll be prepared. I'm ready for the biggest monster or the fiercest Career. The only thing I'm afraid of is having too much fun.


	18. UPDATE: Not a real new actual chapter

**I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.**

**I've been meaning to update in forever and I just want to let you know I'm not abandoning this in the least, but I have final exams this week and I've been busy preparing for them, so that's why there hasn't been a new chapter in over a month. But, on the bright side, once exams are over, I'll be on summer vacation, which will give me plenty of time to catch up and start writing again. So look for the Training and Interviews soon, and then_ finally _the games themselves. I'll get rid of this chapter once I post those, but this is just sort of an update and a reassurance. Again, I'm terribly sorry.**

**Also in the meantime, you can see all your characters on my profile page! Hope you like them!**


End file.
